Do you not know how bleeding
Leaves your mind and guts unheeding?
Bleed; you are not like man, you
With your ripe pear contracting, are you?
Hm. As the end grows nearer
You may come to hold it dearer;
Rich within, your secret din
Sits muffled by your heart of tin;
And yet you will take it on the chin.
Now no matter, lady, the course.
A pear can ride a horse.
For this autumn you sent; it came
in gusts ghosting, no name:
It is the blight woman is torn for;
It is the seed you mourn for.
---moi, miss tiffany lee brown
(written in 120 seconds, part of my Two-Minute Poem of the Day series)
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